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Updated: May 3, 2025
"What of Master Peter Rainham?" Brilliana shrugged again. "A dull, sullen skinflint waiting on event." Halfman's inventory was not complete. "You have yet a third neighbor," he said, "and, as I heard, a prodigal in protestation. What of Sir Blaise Mickleton?" Brilliana's lips twitched with a derisive smile. "Sir Blaise, honest gentleman, loves good cheer and good ease.
He learned that the local gentry were, for the most part, lukewarm politicians; that Peter Rainham and Paul Hungerford were keeping themselves very much to themselves, and being a brace of skinflints were fearing chiefly for their money-bags; while Sir Blaise Mickleton, who had been credited with the intention of riding to join his Majesty at Shrewsbury, had suddenly taken to his bed sick of a strange distemper which declared itself in no outward form, but absolutely forbade its victim to take violent action of any kind.
Mickleton always sends beautiful things. I know the ladies never ate anything like them." But Miss Gibbie did not hear. Again in her room she rang once more. This time but once the bell was pressed, and almost instantly her maid was at her side. At her dressing-table Miss Gibbie turned.
One of my greatest finds was a pair of Chippendale chairs at a sale at Mickleton at the foot of the Cotswolds; they belong to the early part of the Chippendale period, before the Chinese style was abandoned. That influence appears in incised fretted designs on the legs, and the frieze below the seats.
Sir Blaise knitted puzzled brows while Evander, having made the effective pause, continued, suavely: "In the which judgment they erred, for he does not merit so creditable a praise. Sure they can never have seen him who couple in any way the name of Sir Blaise Mickleton with the title of gentleman." Even Sir Blaise's dulness could not misinterpret Evander's meaning, and rage resumed its sway.
"Lordamercy!" she cried, as she rose from her seat and moved a little way towards Sir Blaise. "Let me bring you acquainted." The Cavalier caught her hand and stayed her before she could speak his name. "Wait, wait," he whispered. "Watch me roast him." He swung away from her and swaggered towards Evander. "Tell me, solemn sir," he questioned, "have you heard of one Sir Blaise Mickleton?"
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